


Keep Quiet, Kitten

by hotraisins



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alcohol, Bondage, Bottom Ryan, Daddy Kink, Gay Sex, M/M, Smut, sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4844084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotraisins/pseuds/hotraisins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan has the best lay of his life<br/>(it is almost 5am. I have not edited this at all. forgive me.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Quiet, Kitten

“Hey, you’re too cute to be alone like this. Can I buy you a drink?”

Oh, God. He was giving me the look. The one that said, “You look like a good fuck, my car is parked right outside, and I know a seedy motel or two.” Normally, I would just brush him off, let him order me a damn drink, more than likely throw it in his face, walk off, enjoy my night. But this one...this was one hot stranger. His lean, muscular build, his big, deep-set, droopy brown eyes, the high cheekbones, and oh, God divine, the lips--full and pink and absolutely dreamy. I wanted to kiss him immediately. I had to kiss him.

Jesus, Ryan, hold yourself together, I think to myself. Can I really be that horny? Yes, I can, and I am, and for a guy I don’t even know the name of. I look up at him and give that flirty little smile, the one I use to pick up guys when I’m especially looking for a hook-up, and the look in his eyes changes immediately. Yes, he gets it. He’s been around the block a few times.

“Sure, stranger. I’ll take a cosmopolitan,” I tell him, my voice smooth and confident. If I’ve learned anything from living in Los Angeles for five years it’s that confidence will get you into anyone’s pants--celebrities, strangers, your best friend, anyone. Guaranteed. The man gives a crooked smile and an arched eyebrow at my drink of choice--it’s the one I always ask for when someone offers to buy me a drink. He leans over the bar counter and orders my drink; he’s obviously familiar with the barkeep. Probably comes here often. I study his body language, his facial expressions, the way he carries himself like he’s God’s gift to earth. Bisexual, I know. I’ve been to too many bars to not be able to pinpoint someone’s sexuality. I can smell a pansexual from a mile away. A talent, truly.

As the bartender mixes my drink, the brown-eyed Adonis smirks at me. “You’re awfully cute. I bet you don’t have many nights alone, do you? Got someone to keep you warm?” He’s asking if I’m single. I give my shy little giggle--he’s a top, and tops definitely like to see their sexual escapades portrayed as boyish, shy, maybe even a little vulnerable. He’s probably kinky as hell, too; most bisexuals in this part of town are. Good.

“No, unfortunately,” I say, playing up the charm. “But I bet you’d do a pretty good job of that.” I wink. His eyebrows flicker up for a millisecond. His lips twitch up in the beginnings of a smile, but fall immediately back into the arrogant smirk he’s worn since approaching me. Fuck, that turned me on. I keep imagining what he looks like naked, what that lean body looks like underneath his Rolling Stones t-shirt and skin-tight, dark jeans. I bite my lip (something I know turns people on; I’ve got nice teeth, and people like that.) as the bartender slides my drink over. I take a sip, not breaking eye contact with him the whole time. He’s aroused; his eyes are dark, his pupils dilated. My fingertips brush his knee and I see that tiny little jump, the one that tells me I’ve got him right where I want him.

“I’m can do a lot more than keep you warm,” he purrs. I flash that flirty little smile again, pull him deeper into his lust.

“Someone’s awfully confident,” I retort, smirking. Brendon shrugs.

“Took me a while to build it up,” he says.

“Bet it doesn’t take you long to build up other things,” I say. I’m smooth as fuck; I know because I’ve been told by many. Brendon’s eyebrows dart up.

“My, my, I’ve got a Casanova on my hands.”

“I could be a lot of places, not just your hands.”

“There you go again. You’re quite a character.” He’s undressing me with his eyes. I like this one. I might slip him my number, make him my official booty caller.

“That’s what my mother tells me. What was your name again?” They always like when you play the nonchalant card. Playing hard-to-get has been my plan since high school.

“Brendon, Brendon Urie. And yourself?” I’m not gonna tell him my name. Not yet.

“Well, Brendon Urie, I like your name. I wonder how it would sound in the dark.”

“Someone’s been practicing,” he retorts, obviously impressed.

“I practice a lot of other things, too, wanna find out what they are?” He bites his lip, holding back a smile. He likes me.

“In good time.” He’s trying to tease me. That won’t work. I pretend it will, though. I’ve been taking sips of my drink as we talk, making an effort to lick the rim of the glass just enough to drive him crazy, make him think of my tongue in other places. His mind has been migrating farther and farther down my body as we converse. I take the last sip of my drink and smirk at him through the glass; I’m finally giving him permission to take me home. Or to a hotel, or some seedy dark alley where we’ll probably get caught by the cops, some blockhead kids, a hobo, or anyone, really. That’s not my style. If he takes me there, I’m just gonna make out with him and leave. I don’t look for sex in dirty places.

“I know a nice little hotel right down the street.” Classy, I’ll give him that. His word choice makes me wonder if he really means nice or if he means good enough for a rough fuck in the dead of night. “It’s the Montage, and I’ve already got a room booked for the night.” Damn skippy he does. Might be the best fuck of the month for me.

“That might be good enough for me.” Hard to get. Works every time.

“It’s a penthouse.”

“Well, I suppose.” He bites his lip slowly, turning me on way more than I ever intended to let him. I’m gonna be half hard before we even leave this bar.

“My car’s parked right outside; we could get there in five minutes.” Lots of things I can do in five minutes. I nod.

“Sounds like a plan.” Brendon pays the bartender, who’s been watching us all night. Obviously knows we’re about to go fuck in a five-star hotel in Beverly Hills. He winks at Brendon. Yes, they definitely know each other. I linger on the idea that I may have been drugged. I severely doubt it; I don’t feel any different, and it’s been a few minutes since I finished the drink.

Brendon’s car is a lot nicer than expected. It’s an Audi, sleek and black with leather interior that practically screams wealth. I flick my eyes up to meet his and smirk.

“Big spender,” I note. Brendon smirks. God, he’s dead sexy. He even opens the door for me. A gentleman, too. I slip in the passenger side as he sits in the driver’s seat.

The engine purrs to life, the sound making me wonder what this man does for a living. It’s the sound of weekly check-ups; he takes better care of this car then he does himself, than any human would care for their self. He pulls out of the bar and heads down the street, the bright lights making the city glow.

“You never told me your name,” he points out. I smirk.

“‘Kitten’ will do just fine,” I reply, my hand gently resting on his thigh. He takes in a sharp breath.

“You certainly know how to push people’s buttons,” he says.

“I can do a lot more than make you hard, Brendon,” I purr. The use of his name causes a shiver to roll through his spine.

“If you keep this up I might have to get your number, kitten.” My breathing hitches as he uses the pet name. It’s so...sexual, from his mouth.

“I could say the same for you.” Wasn’t I literally just thinking that?

We pull up to the front of the hotel and Brendon stops the car in front of the valet.

“Evening, Mr. Urie,” the valet says. Brendon steps out of the open car door and heads over to open mine. The valet eyes me with curiosity. I’m obviously not Brendon’s ordinary type. Brendon leads me into the lobby, waving to the front desk. He’s obviously not here just for the night. He probably takes all of his one-night stands here. At least he’s a classy motherfucker. We take the elevator up, and once the doors are closed and we’ve pressed all the buttons, Brendon’s on me, his hands on the wall, blocking any movement I might try and make, his lips hungry and lustful on my neck, my jaw, my lips. I bury my hands in his hair and tug, hearing him moan just slightly; they’re more like whimpers. It’s nearing 2am; we don’t have to worry about anyone walking in between stops. The hotel is eleven damn stories, so we could get pretty far on this one ride. I undo the button of his jeans, exposing ivory skin and causing him to bite my lip.

“Not now, kitten, we haven’t gotten to the room yet.” This one’s definitely going to make me call him Daddy. Good.

My fingertips dig into the back of his neck as his soft, full lips decorate my jawline, his tongue running softly along the bone. He mouths at my jaw, his teeth barely grazing me. My breathing catches once again, causing him to chuckle darkly against my skin.

The elevator makes it’s final stop and Brendon is pulling me by the belt loops of my jeans into the hotel room. It’s fucking huge. I can see most of Beverly Hills from here, including the Hollywood sign. Dude must be loaded.

Before I can even think of something dirty to say Brendon has me pinned against the wall again, this time hastily unbuttoning my shirt. He’s biting my neck and I know he’s going to leave dark bruises there. I couldn’t care less. A tiny moan escapes my lips, surprising even me.

“You like that, kitten?” he asks. I nod, a tiny, infinitesimal movement of my head, and try to quickly undo my belt. Brendon stops my hands. “No,no, kitten, that’s Daddy’s job.” I fucking knew it! The rich ones are always the daddy kinks. His hands push my hips back against the wall, and I let out a tiny whimper, making him smirk. He grinds his hips against mine, making me hard. God, I need him. He nips at my neck as he grinds into me, completely ruining me.

“Please, Daddy,” I beg.

“Look at you, kitten, not even fully undressed and you’re already so ready for me.” He’s arrogant. Hot. “Do you want me?” I swallow hard and nod, shutting my eyes tightly.

“So, so bad.” Brendon smirks again. Dammit, he’s so sexy. He unbuttons my shirt all the way and kisses down to my collarbone, making me moan outright. He bites his lip and grins devilishly as he sucks love bites onto my skin, making me whine. He kisses down my chest and my hands slip into his hair, my fingers tugging at the dark locks. He palms my erection through my jeans.

“Looks like someone’s happy to see me,” he teases, and I would roll my eyes if he weren’t fucking palming me, making me shiver and my knees weak. He’s taking so long to get me undressed. Ugh.

He slips off my belt and unbuttons my jeans with his teeth, which impresses me to no end. Probably means he’s good at giving head. With one hand he unzips my jeans and moves to palm me through my boxer-briefs, which are starting to get a little wet from pre-come. I gasp; the fabric is a lot thinner than the denim. He looks up at me and smirks. “Are you enjoying this, kitten?” I nod feverishly, wanting more, more, more. Quickly and without warning he pulls my boxer-briefs down and places his mouth on my head, inciting a gasp from me, which subsides into a moan. His mouth is hot, and wet, and oh my God it’s like heaven. His tongue flicks over the slit, and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning like a whore. Although, I bet Brendon would appreciate that. He takes me in further and I look down to see his cheeks hollowing as he sucks, his lips stretched obscenely around me. His tongue licks a stripe down my length and I tug on his hair, making him moan, the sound muffled. He mouths my balls, and I gasp again, not expecting the sensation. He pulls off with a vulgar pop and I whine at the loss of sensation.

“Hush, kitten, and get on the bed.” He’s so in charge. I love it and waste no time in lying on my back on the bed. It’s soft, very soft, and I relish the feeling. Brendon is turned around, still fully clothed, and when he turns around he’s got something in his hands.

Zip ties. Two of them. And the bed is four-postered. Hell. Yes.

He wastes no time in binding me to the bed, my hands above my head. I can’t move them at all and I’m getting achingly hard just from that. His slides his belt off and tosses it to the floor, slowly removing each article of clothing as I watch, needing his body. It’s as beautiful as I imagined. He pulls off his boxers finally, standing before me, fully undressed. He grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand--more proof that he’s been here longer than a night--and covers his fingers. They’re fairly long, and I wonder what they’ll---

Oh.

Brendon’s got one finger in me already without much of a warning, and I’m moaning and writhing in pleasure just from one of his fingers grazing my prostate. He laughs darkly as he watches me. He crooks his finger and I inhale sharply, knowing he’s going to kill me tonight, or that maybe he already has and for some reason my sorry-assed soul is in gay heaven. He slips in another finger and I groan at the stretch, loving the slight burn.

“I don’t know how much longer I can wait, kitten, you’re driving me crazy,” he says, his voice deeper and more sultry. I nod.

“I’m-I’m ready, Daddy,” I manage. Brendon already reaching over for the condoms he evidently has in his bedside table drawer before I finish the sentence, and is rolling one on by the time the final syllable has left my lips. He lines himself up with me and looks me in the eyes.

“Ready, kitten?” The eye contact is a plus. I love it. I nod, already half to insanity. He fills me the instant I agree, and I moan loudly.

“Hush, kitten,” he warns. “You don’t want anyone to know we’re here, do you?” I shake my head, pulling at my restraints as he thrusts in again, hard. He pulls back, and the friction drives me mad. I’m leaking; I can feel it on my stomach. He grabs my hips and presses, hard, before thrusting in again. His thrusts are even, which is a feat since we just started. I’m going to have bruises later. I pull sharply on my restraints again, feeling the plastic cut into my skin. I’m going have some kind of mark there, too. He’s going fast, too, and I’m amazed at how much stamina this kid’s got. I want to grip the sheets but when my body instinctively reaches down the zip ties hold me back. I whine as Brendon’s hips collide with my own, needing my hands. I’m helpless, and dear God I’m so turned on by it. I throw my head back and moan loudly; Brendon’s hands fly up and cover my mouth, muffling my moans.

“Keep quiet, kitten,” he warns. There’s danger in his voice and I want to know what he’d do if I moaned right now, loud enough to wake the dead. He thrusts in and out over and over again, no space between, obviously skilled in his practice. I want to moan and I want to reach down to help myself get off, but my hands are above my head and these damn zip ties say I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Brendon’s moaning now, quiet, controlled sound, and he’s turning me on even more.  
“I’m gonna die,” I moan. Brendon just keeps going harder. It feels like we’ve been going at this for hours. My legs tighten around Brendon’s waist and I pull him in even more. He moans and looks down at me deviously, and before I know anything else he’s got his hand wrapped around my dick and he’s stroking me, fast and hard. I’m about to implode.

“Daddy, please, please,” I beg, but for what I’m not sure. I gasp and he just keeps going harder and harder and I know I’m going to go insane. I feel the heat of orgasm in my stomach and I know I can’t go for much longer.

“Can I--Daddy, I need to--” I can’t finish my sentence.

“No. Not yet. Not until I do.” With his stamina? I’ll be in agony all night. I whine. Brendon smirks and thrusts in hard, hitting my prostate dead-on. I want to scream but as soon as I open my mouth Brendon’s hand is covering it again, my scream muffled.

“Kitten, did you like that? Did I hit where you wanted me to?” he asks, teasing me. I nod desperately, needing the sensation again. He hits the same spot over and over again, and I’m trying my damnedest to hold back. Brendon lets out a loud, animalistic moan and I know he’s close. Brendon’s hands are back on my hips, using them as leverage as he abuses my prostate. I hate him so much right now, but I love what he’s doing.

“Oh, kitten, Daddy’s gonna come,” he warns before moaning loud and obscenely, and I feel the condom break, his come pouring into me, and it’s almost enough to send me over the edge. Brendon milks his orgasm and right as he goes to stroke me off, I come, completely untouched, spilling onto my stomach. Brendon's name falls from my lips in a moan loud enough to be heard in South Africa and I feel like every muscle in my body has just completely let go, bliss enveloping my whole body and sending me into a euphoria. Brendon pulls out and licks my come off my body, looking me in the eyes as he does. I feel him seeping out of my body, and it drives me insane. Brendon lays next to me, his breathing slightly labored. I’m spent.

“You came untouched,” he says, slightly awed. I nod, too exhilarated to do much else. “I’ve never seen anyone do that.” I give a little monosyllabic laugh, staring up at the ceiling, my hands still bound. Brendon picks his pants up off the floor, a pocketknife in one of the pockets gleaming in the light. He walks back over to me and cuts the restraints off me, and I gratefully pull them to my chest and massage my tender wrists, just the tiniest amount of blood on the zip ties. Brendon lies down next to me and throws an arm over his eyes, spent.

“Looks like I’m gonna need your number, kitten.”

**Author's Note:**

> This never happened


End file.
